


The Drugs Like Me

by Laylah



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Bad Sex, Drugs, M/M, Nihilism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin understands. God's a bad joke, the kind you have to laugh at or you'll scream yourself hoarse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drugs Like Me

He wakes to the sound of Takaya having a fit, just a few seconds before a flailing hand catches him in the back. Jin rolls over, grabs Takaya by the arm -- tries not to grip too hard; he hates the way the bones shift under his hand -- and glares, fuzzy without his glasses on. "That time already?" he says.

Takaya goes still, trembling, vibrating with tension. He's staring up into the dark of the ceiling -- at this hour there's not even enough light to count the water stains -- and his breath hisses between his teeth. "The fool brings the end of days," he says. "What do we care what's coming? Let it be shattered. Let them all _lose_ \-- what...." He trails off, his lips working soundlessly.

Definitely time for another dose. Jin rolls away, reaching for his glasses, fumbles them on so he can see what he's doing in the thin light from the window with the boards missing. He finds the syringe by feel, and without even sticking himself with the needle this time. The vials they have left have rolled under his laptop bag -- they'll need more soon; he can only find three -- and pulls one out, holding it up to the light. Full. Good.

He dips the needle into the vial and draws out half the contents. Behind him, Takaya is keening. Little flickers of light starburst in the room, illuminating the corners of the squat for long enough to alarm the roaches. Someone might see that and come to investigate if they don't cut it out.

"Time for your shot," Jin says, holding it up.

Takaya's lips peel back from his teeth. "I don't need -- do it, god," he says, and then giggles. Jin understands. God's a bad joke, the kind you have to laugh at or you'll scream yourself hoarse.

He gets up on his knees and straddles Takaya's waist to hold him still. Left hand around Takaya's right wrist, stretching his arm out, right hand placing the needle. When Kirijo's doctors used to do this for them, they'd always tie off the vein first, but it's not really necessary. Takaya's so thin -- they're all so thin; even Chidori's all bone under her layers of lace, and Aragaki's probably the same way. Jin doesn't know if it's the drugs themselves, or the way their Personas try to fight them off. He does know the reason doesn't matter.

Takaya's shaking, which makes it hard for Jin to set the needle. "Hurry," he says through clenched teeth. The air snaps around him, humming like Hypnos is about to manifest whether he wants it to or not.

"Got it," Jin says, as the needle slides home. He pushes the plunger, empties the syringe into Takaya's arm, feels the trembling subside a few heartbeats later. When he pulls the needle out again, a drop of blood wells up dark in the crook of Takaya's elbow, and he presses his thumb over it.

"Thank you, Jin," Takaya says. His voice is slow and hollow, the Persona's power completely absent. He rests one thin hand on Jin's thigh. "I can always count on you."

Jin leans over, reaching for the half-empty vial. "Least I could do," he says. Takaya's kept him together more times than he wants to count, kept them from totally falling apart when they first got out of the lab. He deserves any help Jin can give him.

The dose Jin draws for himself is smaller, because he's not having a crisis yet, not lapsed into the fugue state where he can calculate how many steps it is from here to the train station but can't make his legs unlock enough to take even the first one. He doesn't like to take too much, gets uncomfortable when he can feel the drugs affecting him. But he probably doesn't have more than a few hours to go before he starts to have trouble, and he already has the gear out.

They'll need new needles soon, too. This one is starting to dull from too much use, hurting more -- maybe that's just the bruising -- when he sticks himself. The doctors would be horrified about this part, the filth, the needle sharing. Like it makes a difference. They know what's going to kill them, and they both already have it.

But when the stuff hits, makes its way up through his blood to his nervous system, that stops mattering so much. Takaya's petting his leg. Jin tries to be careful as he sets the syringe aside, tries to make sure he puts it someplace they're not likely to step on it or let it roll away into one of the cracks in the floorboards.

Then he lets Takaya pull him down and kiss him. It tastes sour and Takaya's hands are like spiders against Jin's face and he kisses back even though that's his least favorite part. When he puts his hands down he can feel he hollows between Takaya's ribs, and if he sits back the jut of hipbones press against his thighs. He doesn't need Chidori to tell him their time is measured not in years or decades but in months. Weeks.

Takaya's fingers slide up underneath his jacket, curl cold and hard in the waistband of his pants. Jin pulls back. "Which way?" he says. Most times there's just one answer to that, but sometimes when he's just had a dose Takaya decides he wants to switch up.

Like now, apparently. He shrugs one shoulder, bone shifting under marked skin -- Jin will never understand the way Takaya and Chidori have arguments with Hypnos and Medea by means of pain; his deals with Moros are a lot less physical -- and rolls over so Jin can pick out every knob of his spine from his nape to the low waistband of his jeans. His shoulderblades rise like architecture, his hair falling forward to hang in front of his face.

"Take them off, then," Jin says, tugging at one of Takaya's belt loops before he crawls off to see if they have any lube in the pile of crap -- food wrappers and club flyers and underground magazines -- on the other side of the thin mattress. They _should_ have some. Takaya doesn't always care, when he's giving it up -- more pain to show Hypnos who's in control, probably -- but Jin would rather have it either way. He finds the tube, the cap missing, the stuff oozing onto his fingers as his hand closes around it. Just another sign of how little time they have, isn't it? Everything around them is falling apart, running out, failing at roughly the same rate as their own bodies.

"Come on, Jin," Takaya says. Already there's a little less sluggishness in his voice. In another forty five minutes, maybe an hour, he'll find his equilibrium and probably get up to start planning their next move. It's harder to plan with just the two of them. So many factors to account for.

Maybe he should have taken a full dose too, Jin thinks. He's wandering. "Right," he says, and unzips his pants.

He works his cock hard -- and doesn't count the strokes it takes, doesn't forget the purpose behind the routine, but he should have taken more, because he's still noticing his own habits so much -- and lubes up. His eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that Takaya's skin almost seems to glow, it's so pale.

The lube is cold and Takaya's bare skin is cold, too, but when Jin pushes his way inside that's warm, warm and real, and sometimes he thinks if he could feel this much all the time he'd be normal. He holds onto Takaya's hips with his lube-sticky fingers and pushes and pushes and under him Takaya groans like the discomfort is a relief. That's reason enough to do it, especially now when the drugs file off the too-sharp edges of everything and make him calm again. He shouldn't be so wary of the drugs.

Takaya trembles under him but it's different somehow when it's fucking that does it instead of Hypnos sliding out of control. It's all right when it's just sex, maybe as close as they get to ordinary lives, ordinary responses. Jin shuts his eyes and imagines that for a minute: being healthy, being sane, screwing just because they feel like it. If he keeps his eyes closed and tells himself some really good lies --

When he comes it hurts, crackling tight through his sinews like a low-grade lightning spell, and Jin curses. His heart pounds, loud in his ears, and he's sweating under his clothes. "Did you?" he asks. He couldn't tell.

"Mm," Takaya says. Jin opens his eyes to see if there was a gesture to go with the noise, and Takaya adds, "Yes."

"Good," Jin says. He pulls out. Later, he thinks, they should go to the tea shop down the street with the wireless access, so he can hack his way into a hotel reservation tomorrow night. It's a waste of his skills, but he wants a shower.

He stretches out, lies back down. Takaya's skin is still cold to the touch, and he's restless, shifting on the mattress, like he can't get comfortable. But it's somewhere between the Dark Hour and dawn, and Jin's tired, so he doesn't say anything when he feels Takaya get up again a few minutes later. He should have a few nightmare-free hours ahead of him, and he wants to take them while he can.

By the time he's ready to get up, Takaya will have a plan.


End file.
